


Adventures in Alien Biology

by Romiress



Category: Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Discussion of Eggpreg, Egg Stuffing, Lactation Kink, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Overstimulation, Oviposition, Quasi-Knotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Every one hundred and thirty four days, Clark goes missing for forty-eight hours While not a problem for the rest of the League, it's abigproblem for Bruce, and he'll do whatever it takes to put a stop to it.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 32
Kudos: 590
Collections: Superbat Exchange Winter 2019





	Adventures in Alien Biology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inihiu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inihiu/gifts).



No one else thought it was a problem. When he'd brought it up to Diana, she'd given him one of her very best 'are you alright?' looks and told him that he was making mountains out of molehills.

Two days of being unreachable out of every hundred and thirty four were not a big deal, she said.

Bruce disagreed.

"It could be a serious issue," he had pointed out. "What if something happened while he was unavailable?"

And of course she'd dismissed the whole issue.

But Bruce wasn't half so willing to drop it. Bruce wasn't willing to just let it go when he had no idea what was going on. He _hated_ that kind of blind spot.

So on day one hundred and thirty three (and twenty-three hours), Bruce makes a point of ambushing Clark outside his sleeping quarters.

"We need to talk."

Clark winces, glancing over his shoulder, and it's hard for Bruce not to notice the little things. He looks a little bit red, and there's a smell in the air that Bruce is having a hard time placing. He leans forward, taking a whiff, and decides that it's probably something like a body musk.

Which means his original guess was correct: The fact that you could set a clock by Clark's disappearances means it's probably some kind of bodily function he hasn't seen fit to tell the rest of the League about.

"Can it wait?" Clark says. "I was just about to leave."

"It can't," Bruce says, "because it's about the fact that you're leaving."

Clark goes stiff like someone's just stuck him with a cattle prod, his spine perfectly straight, his muscles tense.

"I really don't think that's something that needs to be discussed. Am I not allowed to have time off?"

"This isn't time off," Bruce points out. "This is a time when you're completely unavailable. If something happened, it could be a serious issue."

"Unfortunately, you'll just have to make do without me," Clark says. "This isn't something I can avoid."

"You're distracted both before and after," Bruce points out. He tracks that sort of thing, even if he didn't make the connection right away. "This is an issue."

Clark heaves a great sigh.

"I agree with you," he says. "But it's not something you're going to be able to fix."

"You'd be surprised at what I can and can't fix, Clark."

Clark seems to soften at the use of his name, and he reaches forward, resting a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"I know you're just trying to help," Clark says, "and I really do appreciate it. But this isn't something you can fix, and you need to let it go."

"So you're trying to tell me that there's _nothing_ I can do?" Bruce asks. He doesn't believe that. Really, he doesn't. There's always something he can do, but people continue to doubt his ability anyway.

"...There's nothing you _should_ do," Clark says. "I can't ask for your help on this."

"You can," Bruce says, "and you should."

Clark hesitates, torn with indecision, but after a moment he glances back towards his door.

"...Alright," Clark says. "We can go inside, talk about it, and then you can always just... leave, if you want."

Bruce feels like he's already won as Clark lets him inside. The sleeping quarters are all fairly large, built for multiple people even though everyone has their own. They're set up that way for emergencies, but Bruce is happy he planned for that as he looks around Clark's room. It's not the place where Clark spends most of his time—he barely sleeps there as far as Bruce is aware—but there's still a few personal touches. Photos of his family. A painting on the wall of the Kansas countryside. Bruce almost wants to lecture him on having too many indications of his identity on the watchtower, but he bites his tongue. That's not what he's here for.7

"So what exactly is the issue?" Bruce says, turning around to face Clark properly.

"Biology," Clark mutters. "How much do you know about Kryptonians?"

"Nothing that would explain this."

He likes to think he knows a lot, but right then he feels absolutely oblivious. Nothing he can think of would possibly explain what's happening here.

"Kryptonians have a mating cycle," Clark clarifies. "Obviously it doesn't sync up to anything on Earth, but every so often we go into... there isn't really a human word for it."

"...Heat?" Bruce knows a lot of things, but he's far from an expert on animal mating habits, and he never had to deal with this sort of thing with Ace.

"Sort of like that," Clark says, looking relieved that he doesn't have to explain too much. "So I have to deal with that for—I mean it's around forty hours but I tend to just say two days—and then it's done."

"And the fact that you've allowed me inside means there's something that _can_ be helped," Bruce points out. If there wasn't, Clark would have just sent him away. The fact that he's in Clark's room means there is an option, and even if Clark doesn't think he'll take it, he trusts him enough to be honest with him about it.

"Yes."

Clark doesn't elaborate until Bruce reaches up, peeling the cowl off just so he can raise an eyebrow at him. Clark shifts, flustered, and then explains.

"It's deeply uncomfortable and lasts as long as it does because I am... unsatisfied, biologically."

"And with help, it would be shorter."

"Yes," Clark confirms. "But I can't possibly ask you to help with that, obviously."

"I don't see why not."

Clark goes red. He was already a bit red before, but right then he'd match a cherry tomato.

"Bruce, that would be—" he pauses, flustered, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "That would be _sex_."

"I'm aware."

Clark splutters a bit, and Bruce holds his hand up.

"Clark, you're making a larger deal of this than you should. This obviously causes you discomfort, as well as making you potentially unable to help in an emergency. If I can do something to help ease your suffering and be ready faster, then so be it."

"This isn't exactly the romantic first mating I was expecting," Clark mumbles.

"...Your first?"

"I couldn't exactly—" Clark stops again, reaching up to tug at the collar of his suit. "I don't look... entirely human. If I'd done anything growing up, someone would have noticed, so my options were limited."

The idea of Clark Kent being a blushing (and boy is he blushing) virgin is appealing in a way that Bruce doesn't want to think about.

"Then I'll do what I can to assist," Bruce says, stepping forward to close the distance between them. He leans up, wrapping an arm around Clark's shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss.

Clark might not have been able to _mate_ with anyone, but it definitely isn't his first kiss either. His arms reach down, winding around him, and Bruce can feel Clark's hand press against his lower back.

"Bruce," Clark gasps out when the kiss breaks. "This is—are you _sure_?"

God yes he's sure. He doesn't think he's ever been so sure of anything in his life, and Bruce answers with another kiss, dragging Clark down to meet him.

Clark is a shockingly good kisser for someone so shy. He knows just the right way to hold himself, and when Bruce dips his tongue into Clark's mouth, he reciprocates in kind. It's the kind of nice-but-intense kissing that inevitably leads to Clark stumbling backwards, breaking the kiss when his legs bump against the side of the bed.

"I think... you should take that suit off," Clark says, a smile on his lips. "Before your cup cuts off circulation."

Damn him. Clark can hear the blood pounding away in Bruce's body, and he must know how hard Bruce's erection is, pressed up against the sturdy material of the suit's cup.

"Hopefully I'm not the only one," Bruce says, reaching up to start peeling his suit off. The cowl's already off, and from there it's easy to strip off bit by bit. The gloves and boots go, neatly set aside, and then he works up the upper half. Clark starts doing the same, only his is much simpler. It's really just a few large pieces, and watching him pull the top of his suit off over his head brings something else to light.

"...Clark, are you lactating?"

There's streaks of glossy fluid coming from each nipple, and Clark goes pink, reaching down to cup his chest in his hands almost defensively.

"It's not quite lactation," he protests. "But... near enough. It happens this time of the cycle."

Bruce isn't quite sure how to process things all of a sudden. Really, he's starting to wonder if maybe Clark's anatomy isn't more different than he first expected.

"Do I need to worry about this?"

"No," Clark says quickly. "It's not an issue. It'll stop when my cycle is over."

"...That seems inefficient," Bruce points out. "What's the point of it, exactly?"

"To show I'm still capable of producing it. Kryptonian newborns... I mean, it's like milk, Bruce." Clark seems more flustered by the minute, and Bruce has to wonder how hard Clark's parents had it. How could they possibly give him a decent sex education lesson with all his oddities?

"Is it going to be an issue if it gets onto me?" Bruce asks, and Clark quickly shakes his head.

"No, it's safe. It isn't—I mean, I don't know how much nutritional value you'll get over it, but it's safe to drink even for a human."

Bruce should probably ignore it, but the way Clark says _drink it_ make Bruce's cock twitch against his cup.

"You mean I could?" Bruce asks, and somehow Clark manages to go even redder.

"You could," he confirms. "If you wanted to."

What happens next is almost automatic. Clark settles back on the bed, and Bruce settles in beside him. He tweaks one of Clark's nipples, his fingers becoming covered in the glossy fluid. Clark was wrong—it isn't actually milk, being completely transparent—but the idea of it is similar enough. Bruce brings his fingers to his lips, licking at it and finding the taste sweet with an undercurrent he can't quite put his finger on.

He can see Clark's entire body twitch as he watches Bruce clean his fingers, his eyes fixed on Bruce's mouth as Bruce leans forward, dragging the flat of his tongue across one pert nipple.

It _is_ sweet, rich in sugar and who knows what else, and he works his way across to the second nipple before pulling back.

"...It isn't bad," he observes, eyes flicking up to watch Clark's reaction.

Clark's reaction is undeniably positive. His mouth is hanging slightly open, his breathing uneven, and he looks like he can't quite figure out how to speak properly as he watches Bruce wipe at his mouth.

"...I should have asked you a long time ago," Clark mutters.

"You should have," Bruce agrees. "You're also still wearing pants, and I'd prefer to know what I'm getting into."

Considering what he's already found, Bruce is expecting something more or less humanoid, and he's not _entirely_ disappointed. Clark does indeed have a penis—or something that certainly looks like one—but it's hard to miss what _isn't_ there.

"...Do you not have testicles...?"

"They're internal," Clark says, sounding defensive. "Is that an issue?"

"No. It just caught me by surprise." It's easy to reach over, dragging his fingers across the space where they should be, and watching Clark squirm as he drags a finger up the side of Clark's cock. For the most part, the similarities are clear enough, and the only other difference he can spot is that rather than a thin vertical slit at the top of his cock, he has a slightly more pronounced X shape.

Nothing too strange.

"Alright," Bruce says. "Do you even know—"

"I know how this works," Clark blurts. "I did look it up, even if I didn't understand it as a kid."

"...I was going to ask if you'd seen a human before."

"Oh," Clark mutters, looking embarrassed. "Not in person, but I've seen... pictures. Videos. I wanted to figure out how I was different, so I looked that all up."

But never in person.

Bruce lifts himself from the bed and works on finishing undressing, neatly folding his pants and underwear as he sets them aside. He can tell Clark is watching him, but he pays him no real mind as he makes sure things are in order.

There's something enticing about Clark's easy exploration of his body when Bruce returns to the bed, about the way Clark reaching out to pull him closer. He lets his hands roam, and he seems particularly interested in Bruce's balls, rolling them in his hand in a way that makes Bruce's cock twitch in anticipation.

"You look nice under your clothes," Clark says.

"That implies you haven't already taken a look before," Bruce points out.

"I haven't. Not... down there. I respect my teammates’ privacy," Clark says, pulling Bruce into a kiss as well.

It seems simple enough. He fucks Clark, Clark is satisfied, and then his pointless mating cycle is over and done with. In theory that still brings up the problem of what to do a hundred and thirty four days from then, but that's a problem for another month. If things go well... well, it could always be a repeat performance.

Of course, things never go as nicely as he has planned. Clark's hands run across his hips, dipping down to grab Bruce's ass, and when Bruce rocks forward on pure instinct, Clark rubs a finger across his hole, causing Bruce's brain to screech to a halt.

"What?" He says, jerking away from the touch. Clark seems confused, even with Bruce practically in his lap, and then realization seems to dawn on him.

"Oh—did I not—"

"You did not," Bruce says, realizing very quickly that he misunderstood.

"I have to—to be doing the penetrating," Clark says. "It isn't going to work otherwise, but—I mean, I should have figured—"

"Clark, it's fine," Bruce says. "It isn't what I was expecting, but I can manage."

It's not as if it would be the first time he let someone fuck him. He just tends to prefer it the other way around.

"I just need some lubrication," he adds, genuinely unclear on if Clark even knows that. "Humans don't—"

"I know," Clark blurts. "I have some in the drawer. I'm not _that_ helpless."

Bruce stretches, reaching over to retrieve it, and hands the little bottle over to Clark as he settles in. One of the nice things about Clark (and there are a lot of nice things) is the absolute ease at which he can move Bruce around, pulling him into his lap as he applies a liberal dose of lube to his fingers, running them across Bruce's hole as Bruce instinctively twitches away.

"Should I have warmed it up more...?"

"It's fine," Bruce says, wrapping his arms around Clark's neck and shoulders for support as Clark presses a finger in.

There's no question in Bruce's mind that Clark has fingered himself before, because he seems to know exactly what to do as he works his finger in and out, carefully adding a second.

"Bruce..." Clark says. "I always used to think about doing this with you."

Oh hell. Is Clark confessing his love for him with his fingers up his ass?

"You were the only one I'd think about..." Clark continues, which should be romantic only it's very hard to focus on anything other than the fact that he's just worked a third finger into him.

"Clark," Bruce chokes out. "Can we discuss the state of our relationship at another time? It's... very hard to focus."

Understatement of the century right there.

"Oh right," Clark says. He's damned good with his fingers, but he seem distracted, giving it very little focus as he spreads Bruce out. Bruce dips his head, resting his forehead against Clark's shoulder, slumping against Clark's eager fingers.

"You're too good at this," Bruce grumbles as Clark adds—unbelievably—a fourth finger. "And you aren't that big. I can manage with three."

"I don't want to hurt you," Clark says. "I just want to be sure."

"I've managed bigger," Bruce says. "Just do it."

Clark lifts him up like he weighs nothing at all, man-handling him before dropping him on his stomach. He wraps an arm under his belly, hauling him upright, and Bruce shifts so he's on his hands and knees, supporting his own weight with Clark behind him.

"Traditional Kryptonian mating position?" Bruce says dryly.

"I just want to be careful," Clark says. "If it hurts, or if anything—"

"I'll tell you," Bruce says. He'll do no such thing. "I get it."

The first touch of Clark's cock against his hole is enough to make Bruce's breath catch, and when Clark adds even more lube he feels a shiver go down his spine. This is it. This is really happening. It's not how he imagined it (not by a long shot), but Clark is _really_ going to fuck him. Hopefully not too softly either, because right them Bruce wants nothing more than to be fucked so hard into the mattress that _he's_ the one who's suddenly unavailable for a few days.

"Bruce..." Clark groans as he starts to press in. There's a bit of resistance, and then the head pops in and Bruce sighs in relief. He isn't that big. He's sizable, but he's not a monster by any means, and Clark manages to fully seat himself inside with one nice long thrust, his hips ending up flush with Bruce's ass.

"Not half bad for your first time," Bruce says. "But you don't have to be so gentle with me. I can manage it."

Clark's hands find Bruce's hips, and he squeezes lightly.

"I'm just going to go slow," Clark says. "Just to start. I just need to... to work up to this."

Clark is true to his word: He goes slow. Far, far too slow for Bruce's tastes, and within a few minutes Bruce is already going slightly insane from how agonizingly slow Clark is taking it.

"Please," Bruce chokes out. "Stop treating me like I'm something fragile. _Fuck_ me." He doesn't want Clark to make love to him. He wants him to _fuck_ him, and he is not delivering.

"I just don't want—"

"I will be fine," Bruce snaps. "Now get to it."

Clark does. He snaps his hips hard enough that Bruce is sure he's going to have a bruise in the morning, and the cry he makes bursts from his throat in a wheeze, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. This is it. This is what he wanted. Something rough and harsh, demanding things that Bruce is all too willing to give.

He'd give up anything for him. This is only the least of it.

"More," Bruce chokes when Clark dares to slow down. "Harder."

He does. Clark rocks into him with an almost unmatched force, fucking into him so hard that Bruce sees stars.

"Are you sure?" Clark says, slowing down abruptly, and Bruce considers turning around just to throttle him for daring to stop.

"Yes," Bruce chokes. _"Yes, Clark_. Don't you dare fucking stop."

Clark doesn't stop after that. He only goes faster, driven by needs that Bruce can't begin to imagine. Needs that he desperately _wants_ to imagine. His ass feels like he's been bent over someone's knee and spanked from the force of Clark thrusting into him, and when Clark jabs against his prostate, Bruce's moan is nearly a sob.

He's almost painfully overwhelmed in the very best of ways when Clark seems to choke, his movements becoming stuttery. It's obvious enough what that means, and Bruce squeezes down with all his power on Clark's cock, eager to feel what he has to offer as Clark finally buries himself inside.

What he has to offer is hot. Not warm, and not burning either, but actually hot, the feeling noticeable as it pours into him. There seems to be a lot of it, certainly more than a human, but it's not an unpleasant feeling either. Clark's hands have found their place on Bruce's hips, holding him tight against him, and Bruce is a moment away from admonishing Clark for not giving him a handjob to finish him off when he feels it.

Something is pressing against his asshole.

It's an absurd realization because Clark is still _in_ him, but the feeling is all but unmistakable as it nudges against him.

"Clark," he croaks. "What the hell is—"

He doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The intrusion against his ass finally pushes in, breaching his hole, and Bruce chokes, his entire body shuddering as he tries to inch away. Clark's hands keep him in place, holding him still as the thing... moves.

He doesn't even understand what's happening.

"Clark," he chokes. "Clark, what are you _doing_?"

He desperately needs Clark to explain what the hell is going on, because the sensations aren't making any sense to him. There's something inside him. Something that wasn't there before, and Clark... he doesn't understand it.

"Laying," Clark says, and his voice sounds wrung out in such a delicious way that Bruce's cock twitches. There's another gush of hot fluid pouring into him, and Bruce chokes back a moan.

"Laying what?" Bruce says, the answer already coming to him.

Eggs. Clark is _laying his eggs_ in him. That was the sudden bulge in his cock, the press of something passing into Bruce, the sudden feeling of something  _ else _ inside him.

"An egg."

Oh god. Bruce suddenly has a lot of questions, but he doesn't manage to ask any of them because he feels another bulge start to nudge against his rim. He chokes, fighting the urge to bear down on it, and forces himself to relax as his poor hole stretched to accommodate it.

"You're doing really well," Clark says, voice hoarse. "I know you can do it."

Now that he's paying attention, he can feel the egg as it moves inside him, moving up through Clark's cock and then finally being released inside him.

"Am I—Am I going to have to _lay_ these eggs?" Bruce chokes. He's not willing to ask how many there are going to be right then.

"No," Clark says, his hand dragging across Bruce's chest. "No, they'll break down when they aren't fertilized. It's very efficient, so you won't have to worry."

Fertilized.

"How do they—" He chokes, feeling another spurt of fluid, and then the press of a third egg against his ass. "How do they get fertilized?"

Clark's explanation of Kryptonian biology is surreal, considering he delivers it right as the third egg pops into Bruce's ass, with all the grunts and groans that entails.

"We have... two sexes. Some lay eggs, and some fertilize them. Either can host them, which is why we both can make food for the newborns."

"So you're telling me," Bruce chokes out, "I could actually get pregnant from this?"

"Only if someone fertilized," Clark says quickly. He seems to be relatively in control of himself, and Bruce is most certainly _not_. He feels frustratingly close to orgasm as Clark rocks his hips, helping the third egg reach its destination inside him. "So don't let Kara near you, I guess." Clark's tone makes it clear that he was kidding, but Bruce is having a hard time focusing on anything other than the feeling of having three eggs inside him. They can't be very large, but they feel gigantic inside him.

"How—" He feels another spurt and knows what's coming. "How long are they going to be in there?"

"They'll break down after about twenty-four hours," Clark explains, his hand dragging across Bruce's stomach in a way that Bruce catalogs as _paternal_. "You should probably stay in bed."

Okay. Alright. He can manage this. What's a few eggs inside him? It isn't a big deal, Bruce tells himself as a fourth stretches his hole out, wringing a whimper from him as it does.

"You're taking monitor duty from me tonight," Bruce mutters.

Clark's voice sounds strained, and Bruce can feel his entire body shiver as he releases the fourth egg.

"Can't," he mumbles. "We'll be busy."

What.

"What—what do you mean _busy_?"

"I still have... there are a lot of eggs, Bruce. We're not done."

_ What? _

"How many of these things are there?" Bruce chokes as another spurt of hot fluid makes shudder against Clark.

"I don't normally count," Clark says. "Normally I'm not actually tied to anything that matters, so it's a bit more... it's different."

" _Clark_."

"Maybe a hundred."

Bruce chokes.

" _Clark_ ," he groans. "I can't—I'm not going to be able to fit that many. You need to stop." At ten he's going to feel bloated. Twenty seems like his upper limit. A hundred is absolutely impossible.

"I can't," Clark says, reaching down to take Bruce's chin as he twists his head around, dragging him into a sloppy kiss. "The head of my cock's open, Bruce. I can't pull it out without seriously hurting you. But I know you can manage."

Bruce does not know that. Bruce is pretty sure he _can't_ manage, but seems like he doesn't have much choice.

There's another spurt of hot fluid, and Bruce wonders just how long it'll be before he breaks.

* * *

It's been four hours and Bruce can't walk. He hasn't tried, but he _knows_ he can't. The eggs have gotten more and more spread out, and right then it's taking almost ten minutes for Clark to deliver the next one.

But he's still not done. He can feel Clark cum into him again—he says it's supposed to help make sure there's proper lubrication—and then another egg press against his hole.

He sobs with desperation. There's no way it can fit, but he's been saying that for the past two and a half hours, and each time, Clark somehow manages to make it fit. He feels stuffed absolutely full, the eggs shifting around inside him every time he so much as twitches, and as Clark rocks forward to help ease the egg's way he feels the eggs rock against his prostate, wringing another orgasm from his dribbling cock.

He's a mess. He's been a mess for hours, the fluid leaking from his ass around Clark's cock and staining into the sheets. He's drooled into the bed, and beneath his cock is a stain.

Hours ago his arms gave in and Clark eased him down onto his side, his cock still locked in place behind him, but his arms and legs no longer bearing his weight.

"Bruce," Clark says, showering kisses across his neck. "I think I'm almost done."

"Please," Bruce begs. "Please."

He needs it to be done so badly. He needs it to be over. He's never felt so full, and feeling Clark pushing another egg into him is enough to wring fresh sobs from him. Every movement rocks up against his prostate. Every movement makes his cock dribble that much more.

"You're doing so well," Clark says, showering him with praise as the egg pops into him. "One more. I think I just... I think I just have one more."

Bruce sobs as the egg nudges against him. His hole aches, stretched open for hours as it tries to accommodate egg after egg. Doesn't clark realize it's going to slide out? Doesn't he understand how this _works_?

When he looks down—and he's been trying not to—he can see the eggs inside him and the way they've made his body bulge in places it shouldn't. His cock isn't even hard anymore, just dribbling into the mess he's made every time an egg catches him the exact right way he needs.

The last egg pushes against him. The last egg pushes _into_ him. Bruce holds his breath as he feels it press in, and then finally he feels Clark start to pull out, the last egg seating itself inside him. Clark eases his (now mercifully human shaped) cock out of him, and Bruce whimpers as it finally freed him, releasing a gush of fluid onto the bed.

"You did so good," Clark says, murmuring reassurances as he trails his hand across Bruce's side. "I'll get you some water and some food, alright? You just stay right there."

Bruce doesn't think he has much of a choice. His options are lie there or lie there, so all he really does is try and move as little as possible.

Clark returns a few minutes later with food and water. Bruce nibbles on a granola bar before draining an entire bottle of water. When he complains that he feels disgusting (because he is—he's got Clark's fluid all across his ass and down his thighs, and his own cum all across his belly, never mind all the sweat), Clark goes to fetch a washcloth and a basin and sets about cleaning him up. He brings him some more food and water, becoming the picture perfect caretaker as he helps Bruce through the worst of it.

At some point, Bruce actually falls asleep, giving in to his exhaustion. When he wakes, Clark is beside him, his arms wrapped loosely around him.

Bruce can barely move, but right then all he wants is more Clark, so he nudges himself a bit closer, feeling Clark's arms instinctively wrap around him, holding him closer.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to do this again sometime after all.


End file.
